


The Brevity of Meantimes

by KnightNight7203



Category: Spring Awakening - Sheik/Sater
Genre: Explicit Language, I mean no worse than in the show but still, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-22
Updated: 2016-08-08
Packaged: 2018-07-25 23:53:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7552045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KnightNight7203/pseuds/KnightNight7203
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Have you prayed today, Hanschen? It doesn't look like you've prayed." In which the wrong boy gets cold feet and faith isn't always a question of right and wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Hanschen Rilow is not someone the Ernst who dreamed of becoming a country pastor would have ever pictured by his side. In fact, he is quite possibly the exact opposite of all the things that boy had thought were waiting for him in the future. He’s sharp rather than soft, calculating and not exceptionally giving, and has a biting edge that Ernst knows he could easily slip over and never climb his way back from. But now that Ernst has had him, if only for a little while, he can’t imagine anything else. Those other dreams are gone.

_Thirty years from now, tonight will seem unbelievably beautiful._

The thought flashes repeatedly through his mind when they’re together, reminding him of the miraculous and dangerously impermanent paradise they have made for themselves. Tonight is beautiful. Tonight is _beautiful_. _Tonight_ is beautiful. Nothing less, and maybe nothing more.

He takes nothing for granted. He can count the number of times they’ve stolen away to this clearing on one hand, but he’s already memorized the feeling of Hanschen’s skin beneath his fingertips, the way their lips fit together to capture the moans and whimpers, the way his eyebrows scrunch together and his toes curl and the corners of his mouth gently quirk upward when he lets expression become unguarded in a moment of calm. He sees the pictures scattered between his freckles when he closes his eyes, imagines he can hear his voice echoing in the wind. They lay on a vibrant bed of leaves and flowers, but for Ernst, the most beautiful colors in the world can be found only in Hanschen’s eyes.

He wouldn’t tell him that, though. The trust they’ve begun to spin between each other is a fragile thing, trembling in the breeze, suspended by Hanschen’s perceived retention of power and Ernst’s willingness to forgive.

And any power Ernst might be keeping for himself evaporates when Hanschen meets his gaze anyway.

Tonight, they don’t talk at all. Ernst isn’t sure they would have much to talk about, anyway. They’ve known each other their entire lives, and as he has begun to realize, Hanschen always paid attention far more than he let on. He remembers the games, the pirates, the walks home from school. And he knew Ernst’s feelings before Ernst himself did. Besides, they have far more interesting ways to pass the time.

“I’ll walk you home,” Ernst says after they’ve laid there in the grass as the sun slipped below the horizon. He adjusts his socks and stands, heading for the path without paying heed to Hanschen’s grumbling or eye rolling.

“I don’t want you to–“

“You always walk me,” Ernst interrupts stubbornly, nudging him in the side and ignoring the way his eyes narrow suspiciously. Hanschen is a suspicious creature; he knows better than to take it personally. “Let me do this for you.”

Really, he’s being selfish. He wants to walk the rest of the way to his own home in silence, to give him time to commit the night’s happenings to memory and to reflect on the surreal quality of their time together. Also, he desperately wants to be the last thing Hanschen sees before he goes inside for the evening. Perhaps Hanschen understands his unspoken plea, because, though he swats at him impatiently, he allows Ernst to take his hand and lead him back into town. They fall into step without trying, and only let go of each other when the danger of becoming seen is too imminent to ignore.

As they near the Rilow property, their pace unconsciously slows. Or maybe it’s entirely conscious. After all, time moves fast enough toward their unspoken ending without their consent — maybe it’s only logical that they would try to prolong it where they can.

They stand some distance from each other on the path, because they must be careful, but not too far, because they are becoming more reckless with each meeting. Ernst studies him shyly out of the corner of his eye, smiling just enough to show he’s content. Hanschen, ever subtle, wiggles his dark eyebrows and lets his tongue flick over his lips. Erst doesn’t know whether to laugh or groan.

“I love you, Hanschen,” he admits then, unable to keep the words inside a moment longer.

He doesn’t expect the other boy to say it back, not so soon at least, and he’s not disappointed. But he also doesn’t expect him to whirl him around and press a quick kiss to his mouth, either, and he’s so shocked when it happens that he nearly falls over in the dust. A quiet giggle slips out of him, and he bites his lip.

“See you tomorrow,” he says in a soft voice, breathless between the kiss and the laughter. Hanschen merely smirks in response, tipping his head in a casual farewell whose subtlety makes their earlier intimacy that much sweeter.

Ernst doesn’t turn as Hanschen makes his way through the grass to his house. For some heavily suppressed reason, he doesn’t like the sight of the boy walking away.


	2. Chapter 2

Sometimes as Ernst comes into their clearing when the sun is setting and the fireflies dance, he can’t help but think that Hanschen looks like a little blonde king holding court in a realm of fairies. He is distant, and unearthly beautiful, and altogether unconcerned about the affairs of humans.

Then he looks up, and the peaceful daydream turns into something slightly more sinister. His eyes glint as they roam over Ernst, and he leans forward, almost predatory. _I’m like a pussycat_ , he had said — a wolf is perhaps more accurate in moments like these. And, wolflike indeed, he descends on Ernst the instant he passes the line of trees, all teeth and tongue and hands roughly pulling the boy closer to him.

But as Ernst’s fingers brush the buttons on his shirt, Hanschen freezes, and all but shoves him away. They stare at each other, lips red, chests rising visibly with the force of their breaths. Then Hanschen drops his gaze and steps back, looking in that moment more like a scared boy than the feral lord of their forest.  


“Hanschen?”

“I must stop you there,” Hanschen says, still not meeting his eyes. “We have something to discuss.”

A dozen thoughts flash through Ernst’s mind. Perhaps Hanschen has found out about the poor grade he’d received in Latin and means to lecture him about studying; though as he’d distracted Ernst from his books all evening, he hardly has the right. Perhaps he has to go away; his parents are known to go on journeys to visit family friends, and often bring Hanschen along. Or perhaps a worse tragedy has struck: has another of their classmates died?

“What is it?” he whispers, almost afraid to hear the answer but trusting Hanschen to tell him all the same. Because regardless, they can face it together. After all, Ernst loves Hanschen, and he’s almost positive he’s loved, at least in some small way, in return. This conviction had become rooted firmly in his mind over the hours he spent replaying his confession of the previous night, and as a result, he is utterly speechless at Hanschen’s reply.

“This ends tonight, Ernst.”

There is not a sound in the forest. No birds chirp, no leaves rustle, the grass and twigs underfoot don’t make a sound as Ernst takes a stumbling step back. Or maybe he just can’t hear them. He can hear his heart, though, pounding so loudly in his ears he’s surprised Hanschen hasn’t mentioned it.

_“What?”_

At first he’s not sure he says it out loud, because it takes Hanschen several seconds to respond. And when he does, his expression almost breaks Ernst apart, because it’s more concerned, and attentive, and loving than it ever was when they were on the same side.

“We had what we had, and I can’t take that from you,” he says earnestly. His hand stretches forward, stopping mere inches from Ernst’s arm before falling back to his side. “But I can’t give you more, either.”

_Thirty years from now, tonight will seem unbelievably beautiful._

This night only seems bleak and colorless. Ernst finds himself fighting for a breath.

“You said a discussion,” he says when he finally manages to force the words past the lump in his throat. “That was not a discussion. That was a decision you reached without me.” Hanschen fought for him once, and he’ll be damned if he’s not going to fight for him in return. For both their sakes.

“Then discuss,” Hanschen says, eyes cold now. “What can you possibly say that will change the fact that we were never meant to be?”

“How can you say that?” Ernst gasps. “After what we’ve felt — what we’ve done—“

This is all wrong, not the way it was supposed to go at all. Ernst was supposed to become nervous and leave, if anyone did, because Hanschen, with his educated arguments and persuasive way of speaking, would have won him back in no time. Ernst’s stammering is doing nothing but making Hanschen angry. He doesn’t know how to convince him to stay.  


“The world was always against us, Ernst,” Hanschen tells him roughly. “We knew that from the beginning.”

“But — I love you—“

“It all comes down to what we believe,” Hanschen continues, louder now, and his words are so unreal that all Ernst can do is stare. “It is my family’s belief that I will enter a marriage with a woman under God. Continuing this is only prolonging the inevitable.”

Ernst blinks at him as though in a daze. “You’re leaving me, for a woman? For _God?_ ”

“It’s not that simple–“

“You don’t even _believe_ in God.” Ernst has two opposite and yet equally strong urges: to break down in tears or to slap that haughty look right off Hanschen’s face. “The only reason you go to church is for your parents, or else you’d join Melchi Gabor in his — his _heathenish_ little rebellion—“

“You would have to marry as well, eventually.” Hanschen is no longer yelling, but it’s only because he knows he has already won. “It will only hurt more if we wait.”

“I’m willing to risk the pain,” Ernst says, desperate to make Hanschen understand that he needs him, if only a little while longer. But Hanschen is no longer open to his affection — in fact, he is actively avoiding it. As Ernst takes a step forward, Hanschen takes two steps back. If Ernst didn't know better, he might think the other was truly afraid of heartbreak. But he's almost certain Hanschen can't feel anything at all.

“I’m sorry, Ernst,” Hanschen breathes. “Truly I am. But our little game can go on no longer.”

“I wasn’t playing.”

Perhaps Ernst is imagining the brief instant of pain that flashes behind Hanschen’s eyes. He’s not sure which would be worse: if was real, or only in his imagination. “For your sake, I suggest you reevaluate.”

Ernst doesn’t reach for his hand, or press one last kiss to the corner of his mouth, or even call out his name. There is no part of him that can conceive of a reality where Hanschen simply walks away like this, without warning or a proper explanation. But when he disappears from view without turning, Ernst screams and screams and screams, aware that no one outside the trees of his clearing can hear him.

_“What has your fucking God ever done for you?”_


	3. Chapter 3

Ernst manages to avoid Hanschen for as long as he possibly can in such a small town, which turns out to be just under forty hours.

It’s not that he has no desire to see him — really, he spent the entire previous day shut away in his room, scared his feet will lead him straight back to the clearing if he takes so much as a step outside. But he needs Hanschen to miss him, to realize that he has made a terrible mistake. Hanschen’s love for him is equal to his own, and once he understands that — or, rather, admits it to himself — they will be even closer than before.

That’s what he tells himself, anyway. It’s certainly not his wounded pride forcing him into this stubborn isolation. Perhaps Hanschen would have such a foolish reaction, but he is obviously far more mature.

The other boy sits stiffly upright in the pew next to his father at church Sunday morning, careful to avoid eye contact with Ernst where he’s perched across the aisle. His pale hair glows in the light from the window behind the altar, as if some unsuspecting deity had allowed a halo to be projected above his head. Erst can barely contain ironic laughter that he’s sure would turn quickly into tears.

At least one of the other altar boys is serving today, a younger one with mercifully dark hair and tanned skin. Ernst couldn’t bear it if he was forced to watch Hanschen stand before the congregation for the duration of the mass, with that lazy, barely-attentive smirk playing across his lips. This way, he can focus on the priest as an excuse to look away. He stares with an intensity he’s sure others would find alarming, if anyone was actually paying attention to him. He’s not sure if his sudden feeling of invisibility is a blessing or a curse. He feels inconsequential.

He knows it’s ridiculous — he and Hanschen had only been together for a few weeks — but it’s hard, now, to remember a Sunday where the other boy didn’t spend the entire mass silently undressing him with his eyes.

At any rate, the sermon seems especially passionate today, its intensity perhaps heightened by the acute force of Ernst’s focus. The priest’s face is fixed in a fervent scowl as he gestures grandly to the heavens. Ernst can sense a feeling of _otherness_ in the air, some power bigger than himself and the troubles with which he’s been plagued of late.

It would be magical, if it didn’t feel so distant from the boy he’s become recently. Unfortunately, he fears that nothing will ever again feel as real as the warmth of Hanschen’s embrace on the soft grass of their clearing. It almost makes him miss, in a way, the days when his simple dreams of a life in the clergy had been all he needed in order to be happy. He used to hang onto every line of these readings, letting himself imagine the ways he would someday reach people with God’s word. He wanted nothing more than to save people, to help them to love, to inspire the children.

Today, despite his attention, he somehow doesn’t hear a word the priest says.

He’s so wrapped up in his thoughts that it takes him several minutes to realize that the service has even ended. When he finally becomes aware of the fact that the people around him have stood up and begun making their way to the door, his father has vanished. Ernst locates him a moment later across the chapel, conversing with Frau Zirschnitz.

He forces himself to his feet, about to traipse after him, when he is stopped by the sharp elbow of Hanschen thrust suddenly into his path as the other boy exits his pew. Ernst stares, unsure if it was an accident or a predictable, slightly pathetic cry for attention. Hanschen’s father, hovering behind his son, glares at the interruption. Hanschen winces.

“Ernst,” he says, something unreadable in his eyes. It almost resembles a warning, though of what, Ernst isn’t sure. He shakes his head. He can’t do this now.

“You didn’t serve today,” he mutters instead, the same way one might comment about the weather. In retrospect, perhaps a comment on the weather might have been wiser. He might as well admit he’s thought of nothing but Hanschen since their last meeting.

The corners of Hanschen’s mouth tighten almost imperceptibly. “My father decided I should take some time off. Focus more on the teachings.” He shakes his head, focusing on something over Ernst’s shoulder. “I’m told we live in a godless time. Apparently I’m to reflect on the virtue of my contributions to society.”

There’s something off about his expression and his tone, and Ernst puts aside his hurt feelings for a moment to really study him. “Are you alright, Hanschen?” His voice drops to a whisper, keenly aware of the boy’s father standing nearby. “Are you in trouble for something, or—“

“Everything is fine, Ernst,” Hanschen says, brushing past him. “I’ll see you in class tomorrow.”

In a perfect world Ernst would go after him, but his father blocks him from view and neither look back and so Ernst slumps to his own father’s side, staring listlessly at the wall until the adults finish their conversation and turn to leave.

The sun is bright when they emerge blinking from the church, and it takes a moment for Ernst’s eyes to adjust. When they do, he immediately wishes again for that naive blindness, because what he sees when the spots clear from his vision may as well be the end of the world.

There, in full view of the people trickling out of the church — in full view of his _father_ — Hanschen is kissing some girl in a flowing flowered skirt and pigtails.

The part of Ernst’s mind responsible for his fight-or-flight response goes numb, leaving him with nothing to do but stand, mouth gaping, arms flopped loosely at his sides. Unfortunately, a rather unpleasant part of his mind remains perfectly active, whispering awful truths directly into his consciousness.

_She is so unlike you, so small and soft and pretty. Is this what Hanschen wanted?_

_He can be with her in public, at church, in front of all these people._

_Someday, she could give him a family._

And then his poor brain jolts back to life, because Hanschen has broken away, his eyes flickering between his father and Ernst, and _goddamn him_ , he knows _exactly_ what he’s done. Even from across the field, Ernst can see it written across his face.

It’s not that he didn’t think Hanschen was capable of moving on so fast. It was no secret that he has the sex appeal of a Greek god and the dangerous charm of a traveling salesman, not to mention an impressive list of conquests that Ernst had never asked about but had somehow learned of anyway. But even if what they had wasn’t love, Ernst had still thought it meant _more._

Apparently not.

For a split second his mind screams _fuck the consequences_ , and so he storms right to Hanschen’s side, earning an alarmed look from the girl and a cautiously optimistic look from Hanschen. As if he were going to congratulate him, or maybe ask for professional advice on how to pursue his own societally-approved Happy Ending.

Instead, he opts for a strangled yelp that’s more like a croak than a scream. His limbs are flailing. His face is either terrifying, or dangerously close to tears. “What are you _doing?_ ”

Hanschen rolls his eyes perfunctorily, then grabs Ernst’s arms, forcing them down by his sides before tucking his own hands safely into his armpits. Overall his posture contains significantly less swagger than normal, but Ernst can’t bring himself to care. “Honestly, Ernst. You’re making such a spectacle, and over what? A girl?”

The cause of said spectacle lets out an indignant squeak, even as Ernst stutters out a mostly inarticulate response. “You know it’s more than that! The people— The church—“

He is not particularly concerned about either of these aspects, but he has to complain about something, and he can’t very well publicly crucify Hanschen for his abandoned affection in good conscience. In his mind, he is still the protagonist of this story. Hanschen plays the villain all too well.

“Perhaps someday we’ll be married in this very spot,” Hanschen says stiffly, though it seems to appease his affronted companion. The girl lets loose a wild giggle, before ascertaining from both boys’ expressions that their fight is a private matter between _friends_ and hastily taking her leave. “Look around, Ernst,” Hanschen continues once she’s gone. “No one cares. In fact, it’s as if God himself approves.”

Ernst knows Hanschen isn’t afraid of _God_ , but for the life of him he can’t conceive of an explanation that accounts for this, and so he snaps.

“Have you prayed today, Herr Rilow?” he says in a low voice, his tone uncharacteristically harsh. “Begged for forgiveness, for your many, _many_ sins?”

Hanschen physically recoils at the formal designation, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. Or maybe he’s just afraid of what Ernst could say to ruin his image, to ruin him, here before what remains of the congregation. “Ernst–“

His quiet plea makes Ernst’s stomach squirm in a way that’s equally guilty and angry all over again.

“I’ll let you get back to your company,” Ernst says, gentle once more but cutting him off all the same. Maybe he can’t stop this, but he’s not obligated to listen, either. “Enjoy your afternoon.”

Maybe, thirty years from now, this horrible aching pain will have faded to something a bit more manageable.


	4. Chapter 4

When Hanschen broke his heart, it was supposed to be dismissive, a careless comment made by a boy who had moved on without him, who was made not for commitment and and devotion but for a world where love was a game for the predator and the undoing of the prey. It was not supposed to be gentle, or apologetic, and it certainly wasn’t meant to leave Ernst wondering if he had truly moved on at all.

He can’t force himself to forget the wild look he’s sure he saw in Hanschen’s eyes when he asked if anything was wrong.

He waits five days before returning to the clearing, and even then, he doesn’t seriously expect Hanschen to be there. He’s tried to make it abundantly clear that he grew up, after all, and moved on to better things — he would have no more need for playing fantasy in the woods. So when Ernst’s eyes adjust to the dappled light of the sun peeking through the leaves and he sees Hanschen hunched over in the middle of the grass, his eyes actually dart wildly for a female companion before he allows himself to accept the fact that they’re alone.

He stomps his feet through the leaves, clears his throat loudly to give the other boy plenty of warning of his approach. He doesn’t _want_ Hanschen to run, exactly, but he can’t deny that it might be easier if he were to leave and save them both from a conversation that is very unlikely to resolve their feelings. Hanschen doesn’t move, however — for the longest time, he doesn’t even lift his head. And when he finally stirs to blink up at Ernst, he doesn’t look happy.

He doesn’t look angry, either, as Ernst feared he might. Instead, his expression is ... unsettled to say the least. His face is white, and there are dark circles under his eyes.Though it is warm even in the shade and Ernst tied his blazer around his waist and rolled up his sleeves long ago, Hanschen remains fully dressed in his uniform, hands clutching distractedly at the sleeves.

Ernst chooses not to comment on any of these things, certain that such an observation would cause Hanschen to become defensive, combative even. "You're here," he says softly instead, feeling undeniably nervous and yet unable to squash the little butterflies of hope that have erupted in his stomach.

Hanschen himself looks skeptical of his decision to return, raising an eyebrow in a way that would be condescending if his eyes weren't so haunted. He licks his dry lips slowly, eyes regaining their focus on the ground.

"I just wanted to--"

"You don't have to explain," Ernst interrupts him gently, kneeling down in front of him so that he can make eye contact. Really, he would like an explanation, but Hanschen's face is so pale and Ernst is actually a little afraid he's going to throw up. So he starts talking again, trying to set the other boy at ease. If things are going to return to normal he needs Hanschen to be comfortable with him once more, unsure as he is what could have caused this sudden uneasiness. "I've missed you. It's good to see you. How have you been?"

They've seen each other all week at school, of course, but their interactions have been as limited as possible and painfully polite. _Herr Rilow, may I please borrow your slate? Certainly, Herr Robel, my pleasure._ The rest of the time, Ernst stared wistfully at Hanschen from across the room when he wasn't looking, and he was almost sure the other boy was doing the same when his own back was turned. There was a certain intensity to the goosebumps delicately trickling down his spine that only a certain blond could inspire.

"I've been fine, of course," Hanschen says quickly. His voice is strange, but Ernst understands -- he can't appear too needy, as if he were suffering without him. Hanschen’s image is nothing if not composed, untouchable, and seemingly unfeeling. Unfortunately for him, Ernst knows him better than that.

"I really did miss you, Hansi," he repeats. Hanschen nods, swallowing thickly, and Ernst is just a little surprised when he answers.

“I’ve missed you too."

They stare at each, each unsure of how to move forward. Ernst longs to lean over to Hanschen and pull him into his arms, but he remembers how violently he'd been pushed away the last time he did so and is hesitant to make the first move. Maybe there isn't even going to be a first move. He can't tell if Hanschen is here because he wants to make up, or because he truly is the sadistic masochist his reputation proclaims him to be.

Ernst is rather certain he's not, though, today more so than ever. Huddled on the ground in a way that he probably hoped appeared lounging, shoulders high and tense and fingers clenched into white-knuckled fists at his sides, Hanschen just seems small.

"So what now?" Ernst can't stand the silence. At least when Hanschen speaks, his voice is always even and calm — Ernst can pretend things are okay.

"We do this the right way," Hanschen says after a long pause. He's now staring at the leafy canopy above them in such a deliberate way that it's clear he's pointedly not looking at Ernst. "We stay friends. We don't become angry at each other for doing what's best for us."

“I’d like to be friends,” Ernst says, which is only partly a lie because he really does want he and Hanschen to be on speaking terms once more. Of course, he wants more along with it, but with a little luck there will be plenty of time for that negotiation.

“So would I,” Hanschen agrees, his voice relieved. His expression becomes more relaxed and his eyes return to Ernst’s once more. When Ernst smiles, he returns it, and Ernst’s stomach twists again at how _sweet_ it is — for once, there’s nothing dangerous in his expression at all.

“Friends who kiss on occasion,” Ernst can’t resist adding. He regrets this decision immediately when Hanschen’s face falls, the beautiful smile sliding away.

“I don’t think I can do that.” At least his tone isn’t angry like before, or cold. He just sounds tired.

For Ernst, the quick rebuttal brings back all of the uncertainties he’d been mulling over for the past week. “Hanschen, please. I don’t understand what I did to upset you!”

For a moment, he is convinced Hanschen is entertaining the thought of cradling his face in his hands, or at least telling him some of the truth. His fingers twitch, and and a fragile look flits across his face. But in the end he only sighs, shakes his head.

“Please don’t think that. You’ve done nothing.”

“Then what changed? Your feelings for me? I know you had them.”

“Of— Of course not,” Hanschen stammers, a pink tinge flooding his cheeks. “Ernst—“

“It can’t possibly be worse than what I’ve been imagining,” Ernst says firmly. Throughout the week, he’d considered it all: a potential affair (though, despite being out of character, Hanschen hadn’t so much as looked at another person since deciding to pursue Ernst), a particularly intimidating story he’d heard while serving at church (though his stint as alter boy is only what could be called a practical arrangement, lacking all of the true convictions of faith that might be used to frighten him away with threats of damnation), an impending threat of arranged marriage (though they’re only sixteen and he’s sure no one’s parents have even begun to think of pairing their children off yet). He’s barely slept for all the thinking through the possibilities.

Hanschen looks skeptical. “I hardly think—“

“I _need_ to know—“

“God _damn_ it, Ernst!” Hanschen’s shout catches him off guard, and he lurches back from his crouched position and lands on his ass. “I am trying to _protect_ you.”

Ernst crosses his legs rather than pushing himself up again. Hopefully Hanschen will get the message that he’s not going anywhere. “From what?”

“From being hurt,” he responds stubbornly.

“I’m not scared of being hurt in the end,” Ernst says, or at least starts to say, but Hanschen leans over and pulled him into a deep kiss before he can finish. Ernst flounders for a minute, caught off guard, but Hanschen’s hand on the back of his neck is firm and the way their chests press together sends heat rushing up and down his body, and so he eventually relaxes and lets the kiss wash over him.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy, here it is, and it's a long one. Hopefully it's apparent how much love went into this chapter -- it obviously took forever, but I finally think I'm happy with it. If you like it, and wouldn't mind taking the time to let me know in the comments, it would mean a lot! xo

After a whole week apart, Ernst realizes with a pang that he had forgotten exactly how good it feels to kiss Hanschen, even with all the time he’d spent committing it to memory. He hadn’t been sure he’d ever get to experience this again, and that makes their reunion that much sweeter.

But when he remembers the reasons for his fears he gently squirms out of Hanschen’s arms and pushes him away, because they were in the middle of a discussion and he isn’t quite ready to give up yet.

“Um?”

“Friends who kiss sometimes,” Hanschen agrees belatedly. Ernst gets a little thrill at the way his voice is thin and he’s out of breath, but he’s also almost positive this concession is only intended to shut him up. After all, it’s difficult to talk with someone’s tongue down your throat.

“You didn’t want that,” Ernst reminds him, a little uncertain now that he’s forcing Hanschen into a situation he’s not comfortable with.

“I changed my mind.” Hanschen certainly doesn’t sound uncomfortable anymore. He’s reaching for Ernst’s face again. Ernst swats at him, smiling so the other boy knows he’s mostly kidding.

“So…”

“I did have my reasons for pushing you away,” Hanschen says, leveling Ernst with a pointed look as he adds, “many of which I articulated.”

“Some of which I suspect you didn’t,” Ernst says stubbornly.

“None of which matter now,” Hanschen finishes, pulling him in again.

Ernst blinks up at him, but Hanschen’s eyes are already closed. This makes his face harder to read, but if his body language is anything to go by, Hanschen is completely calm — he’s relaxed against Ernst, leaning into his touch in a way that suggests wholehearted trust. Somehow Ernst can’t help but feel like there’s a hint of tension somewhere in the line of his spine, some unspoken fear he can’t quite let go of, but as there’s no evidence for this strange inkling he forces himself to let it go.

“If you’re sure,” he mumbles into the other boy’s mouth, fighting back a smile at the way Hanschen sighs breathily against him when he concedes to the kiss.

Ernst loves this side of him — the way distant, collected, often _cold_ Hanschen almost becomes undone when they’re like this. Despite his unmistakable prowess, he just lies there and lets Ernst do his worst to him. He’s still in control somehow, of course — he’s just found a way to manipulate Ernst’s actions by the subtle shifts in his breathing and the way he squirms in his arms.

This tactic works so well that Ernst completely forgets about his unanswered questions and himself, focusing entirely on the boy who just recently ended up beneath him. He links their hands together at their sides, moving his lips from Hanschen’s mouth to his jaw and down the side of his neck. Suddenly Hanschen is wearing the lesser amount of clothing between the two of them, blazer thrown to the side, shirt unbuttoned, trousers somewhere around his knees. Ernst kisses further down, tracing his tongue over his collarbone, his chest—

Then he freezes, because that’s when he notices the bruises.

He doesn’t speak and he doesn’t move — his mind feels fuzzy, and he has to take a minute to work out exactly what he’s seeing. His breath ghosts over Hanschen’s skin, the puffs of air causing his stomach to twitch gently in anticipation. When no more kisses come, Hanschen props his head up lazily, peering down at Ernst in languid confusion. He follows his gaze, and Ernst can pinpoint the exact moment that his stomach drops in understanding. The light flush that had started to color his cheeks drains away, leaving behind a sickly gray.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he mutters, and then he’s gone, scooting back through the grass until his back slams into the trunk of a tree. He doesn’t wince, doesn’t even blink, just stares at Ernst with a kind of desperation on his face, as though he’s willing him to ignore the explicit explanation for his reluctance that he’d thought he wanted.

But oh, Ernst had never dreamed that the cause of their separation was _this._

He blinks forcefully, knowing that he shouldn’t stare, that he should say something, but unable to tear his gaze away. Hanschen’s chest is a mess of colors, stained yellow and green and dark dark blue like some kind of twisted artist’s palette. Swirled within the bruises, he thinks he can make out the outlines of a belt buckle, fingerprints, maybe even the imprint of a shoe. The marks trickle down beneath the line of his underwear, wrap around to his back. Since their last meeting in the clearing, Hanschen has clearly been beaten by someone, mercilessly and repeatedly.

“You _idiot,”_ he says in a low voice, and even that wobbles like he’s about to cry. He might be; he’s honestly not sure at this point. “Who was it? Who found out?” There’s another question, too; one that he doesn’t ask but tugs at the edge of his consciousness: _Are they coming for me too?_

“It’s fine,” Hanschen says immediately, shaking his head. It’s almost as if he can sense Ernst’s unspoken panic. “I took care of it. We’re good.”

Ernst might be good, but Hanschen clearly isn’t, and suddenly it hits him that Hanschen’s self-proclaimed efforts to protect him must have been far more meaningful than he had given him credit for earlier.

He moves slowly closer, crawling over the trousers that Hanschen had slid right out of during his mad escape. He reaches out to touch him, to cradle his face, but stops short, his hand hovering in mid-air. “Why wouldn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t want you to know. Obviously.” Hanschen’s voice is icy, painfully clipped, but tears have started gathering at the corners of his eyes.

Ernst frowns. “And yet, you let me—?” He gestures vaguely to the pieces of uniform strewn around them.

“I thought you wouldn’t say anything,” Hanschen admits, coughing.

Ernst stares at him, incredulous. Well, he directs a brief incredulous look at the other boy’s eyes, and then his gaze returns to the horrible bruises discoloring his chest. “You thought I would ignore this?”

“I thought…” Hanschen swallows thickly, pulling his shirt closed. “I thought you’d be so glad I was here that you’d let it go.”

“Oh my _God_ , Hanschen.” Ernst isn’t even sure what to do or say to contradict this absurd notion. He settles for grabbing Hanschen’s hand, because he’s honestly afraid to touch anywhere else now. “The fact that you could ever think that I was only in this for … for your body is horrifying to me. I would _never_ ignore that you’re hurt.”

“That’s not what I meant,” he says witheringly, but the bite in his voice is undermined by the way he lowers his eyes and hunches over after he says it, and Ernst knows he’s lying. He’s struck suddenly by how alone Hanschen must have felt, even before this. Did any of their classmates see him as anything more than a pretty face?

Ernst has for a long time now, though. He knows how compassionate Hanschen can be, how _loving,_ when he allows himself to open up. And the fact that his affections, already so rarely displayed, were met with this horror … it makes his blood boil.

“You have to tell me who,” he repeats, gentler this time. He pulls Hanschen into a loose hug, terrified of hurting him worse. When Hanschen grips his shoulders with a kind of rough desperation, he lets himself hold him a little tighter. If Hanschen hadn’t been hurt by his earlier touches, he doubts this embrace will be painful either.

Just before letting go, Hanschen whispers something in his ear, and it’s so soft that he’s almost sure he imagined the words.

“Your _father?_ ”

There’s no mistaking the tense nod Hanschen gives to his question. He wracks his brain for something to say and comes up short — is there a proper way to respond to such a revelation? Fortunately his struggle is short-lived, because without his asking, Hanschen launches into the story. Ernst has a feeling he really just wants to get it off his chest.

There are enough bruises already marring the skin there that he probably needs to make the confession to be able to breathe at all.

“It was after you walked me home. He was watching. When I — when I kissed you. He didn’t see your face because you never turned around, but he knew you were a boy and … he didn’t like it.” He rubs his eyes angrily. “He told me as much with his belt, among other things. And he reminded me throughout the week, just in case I happened to forget.” That explains how the injuries still look so fresh and raw, nearly a week after they had been discovered.

“Did he even ask you if we were … together? To make sure? I mean, I know we kissed, but—” Ernst’s voice is tentative; he’s doesn’t want to request details that Hanschen isn’t ready to give. Or to make the other boy feel bad if he renounced any ties to him in an effort to protect himself. But Hanschen’s lip curls, and he all but spits out his response.

“He asked if we were— if we were _fucking_. I told him no; I don’t know if he believed me. I don’t know if it mattered either way. If the … the urges are there, he failed, and it was obviously easier to blame me than to blame himself.”

“There’s nothing wrong with this,” Ernst says calmly, though inside he’s screaming. “He didn’t fail because of this.” Other, more recent developments have convinced Ernst of Herr Rilow’s utter incompetence as a human being, though.

“Of course not,” Hanschen responds immediately. “I never believed that for a second, and I’m sorry if I made you think otherwise. But if one of you had to hate me — I trust you a hell of a lot more than I trust him.” He winces. “For obvious reasons.”

“I don’t hate you.” Ernst presses a gentle kiss to his forehead, finds it cool and clammy, still slick with sweat from earlier. “No matter what you say, what you do, I could never.”

“I wasn’t lying, though,” Hanschen says, suddenly, inexplicably desperate. “When I told him we weren’t— because this isn’t— that.” He grips Ernst’s hands tightly, staring at them instead of his face, and bites his lip. He takes a deep breath, then scrunches up his face like he’s about to admit something horrible. “This is … it’s love. Or— or something. Maybe.”

Ernst ignores the way he mitigated his declaration, knowing full well that Hanschen is wracked with insecurity but that the sentiment was genuine. His face splits into a smile despite the seriousness of the situation. “You love me? Really?” He’d known it all along, of course, but the fact that Hanschen would finally say it now, amid so much pain and confusion …

Hanschen looks away, and Ernst is relieved to see his complexion flushed with a healthier color once more. “ _Yes,_ Ernst. I love you. Of course I do. Happy now?”

“Not particularly. I mean, yes, but — this is all my fault.” The realization settles in his stomach even as he says it, bringing with it the memories of all the ways he must have escalated the situation throughout the week.

Now it’s Hanschen’s turn to study the other boy in surprise. He does not look amused. “And how do you figure that, exactly?”

“I wanted to walk you home. I’m the reason you kissed me in front of your house. And maybe if you’d given me up — if you’d told him it was me — he wouldn’t have hurt you so badly.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Hanschen says, angrily now. He runs a hand through his hair, causing his shirt to fall open again, and Ernst tries not to stare. It’s truly awful. “You don’t make my choices for me. You didn’t make me do anything.”

He sounds a little more defensive than he has to be, but Ernst doesn’t blame him — he’s been denied agency in a lot of decisions lately, after all.

“I’m sorry,” he says immediately, not wanting to upset Hanschen further. “It just feels like … like I’m doing all of the wrong things lately. I lost you. I kept you away, drawing attention to us instead of understanding and fixing this.”

“That’s less your fault when you remember how you tried to get me to explain what was going on, of course,” Hanschen says wryly, rolling his eyes like he can’t believe his stupidity. Their stupidity, really. Although perhaps they shouldn’t be too quick to condemn their actions. Maybe they were stupid, but they’re young, and in love. Ernst thinks they deserve a little leeway.

“I suppose.” he giggles reluctantly. “You should have just told me. We could have come up with a plan. We’ll only meet here. We’ll behave in public. This can work.”

“Well,” Hanschen says, and Ernst knows that’s the closest to an admission of wrongdoing he’s going to get, so he leans in and kisses him.

He goes much slower now that he knows about Hanschen’s injuries, taking the time to trace each bruise in gentle kisses before moving on to the next. He arrives at a particularly dark patch just below his ribs and uses even less pressure, skimming the edges of the mark with his tongue. Then he freezes as Hanschen’s muscles clench, a little gasp leaving him as he tenses.

Ernst looks up, worried for one heart-stopping moment that he hurt him despite his care, but Hanschen’s head is thrown back and his eyes are pressed shut. He was squirming in anticipation.

Ernst smiles, sliding back up Hanschen’s body to press their lips together again.

_Thirty years from now, tonight will seem unbelievably beautiful._

Maybe, just maybe, theirs was the promise of a beginning and not an ending. The present can be beautiful because it leads the way into the future, after all, and not just because it is all they can ever have.

If Hanschen’s grip on his sides is any indication, he will never let go again.


End file.
